


Accidentally On Purpose (What Happens in Vegas?)

by TurtleAds (merpwrites)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: F/M, Swearing, everyone is super hungover, talk/reference of sex (no actual sex), this is a vegas trip au thing, varying states of undress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 06:56:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11754459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merpwrites/pseuds/TurtleAds
Summary: Looking at him, he was actually pretty cute. He had curly brown hair that looked chestnut-y where the sun hit it, you could sort of see freckles on the sliver of face that he had exposed, and his nicely toned arm had what looked like what you thought was some sort of Zelda tattoo, at a glance. You gave a thoughtful frown and shrugged to yourself.At least drunk [Y/N] found someone that’s your type.





	Accidentally On Purpose (What Happens in Vegas?)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a Hangover-style "I got drunk in Vegas and woke up in bed with you" sort of thing, without the missing people or the pulling teeth or really any part of the movie except for getting blackout drunk in Vegas, so I guess it's not like Hangover at all, really.   
> It was originally posted on my tumblr, adscititious-cacoethes.tumblr.com
> 
> [Y/F/N] = Your friend's name  
> [Y/F/C] = Your favorite color

You woke up slowly, to a pounding headache.

Your bladder felt like it was about to burst, your mouth felt like cotton, and your eyes were so sticky and dry that as you came to consciousness, it was a struggle to get them to open at all.

The first thing you noticed past your head and your bladder was the warmth on your face. When you finally blinked your eyes open enough to see what was going on, there was just the smallest bit of light streaming through the window next to your bed. You had a brief moment of panic where you had no idea where you were, your bedroom having no windows that faced the bed that way, but then you sighed and sank into the bed a little more when you remembered – you were in Vegas for the weekend with some friends. A reunion.

_Could’ve sworn I picked a bed that didn’t face a window, though…_

You struggled for a few minutes about whether you should go back to sleep or not, feeling awfully warm and cozy in this bed, a row of very comfortable pillows against your back, but your bladder was screaming at you and so you resigned yourself to working up the nerve to drag your hungover, sorry ass out of bed.

When you reached down to gingerly push back the covers (that were only half-on you to begin with), your hand brushed against something that was _definitely_ skin and _absolutely_ not yours.

_Oh._

_Oh no._

What you had assumed was a nice, comfy line of pillows was actually a _man_ , and as your fingers brushed against his forearm he stirred. You went stiff as a board as he sighed into your hair (a rather pleasant feeling, actually). His arm tightened against your body for a moment before relaxing and becoming dead weight, his breathing heavy and even.

You curbed your panic, staying ridged and still for another few moments while making sure that he had actually fallen asleep, or more asleep (you weren’t sure whether or not you touching him woke him up at all).

Bladder temporarily forgotten, you focused on trying to figure out what was going on. You could tell you were wearing a shirt, but it felt like it was big on you, the collar being looser than the shirts you normally wear. You were assuming that it was _his_ shirt, considering you were pretty sure that you hadn’t actually brought any on your trip. You could tell you were still wearing both your bra and underwear, which implied that _maybe_ drunk [Y/N] didn’t put out. It was especially weird that you still had your bra on, because typically you don’t sleep with one on, regardless of your escapades.

Besides being extremely hungover, you felt pretty okay. You ignored the way your stomach twisted at this whole situation. Although you’re not necessarily a stranger to one-night stands and the like, you didn’t make it a habit, and this was the first time that you had drank enough to not remember it.

_Maybe I just couldn’t find my way home so this dude let me stay with him out of the goodness of his heart._ You tried to convince yourself but it was no use. That seemed like the least likely course of events, and convincing yourself of anything was much more difficult than usual with your head pounding like a drum. You let your eyes slide shut for a moment before blinking against the light once more. Looking around, this was _definitely_ not the hotel suite you and your girlfriends had checked into yesterday afternoon, but the layout was similar.

_Same hotel, different room?_ You guessed, looking around to try to figure out what direction you’d need to go in to get to the bathroom, and if it was close to the exit. Maybe you could find your stuff, pee, and leave without this guy waking up. Something else, however, caught your eye and made your stomach drop. Peeking out from underneath your pillow is the stretched out left hand of One-Night-Stand guy. And the glimmer of sunshine that brought your gaze up to your hand was the soft sunlight _reflecting off of a wedding ring._

At least, you were assuming it was a wedding ring, it was on his fucking ring finger of his left hand and unless you ended up in bed with someone from one of those countries who do it the other way around, that meant he was fucking _married._

You were in bed with a married man.

_You’re a homewrecker, now, fuck_. You wanted to scream and freak out, but you were still painfully aware of the heavy arm draped over your midsection and the soft breathing in your ear and you curbed the urge, instead just clenching the hand not under your pillow into a fist, relishing in the way your fingernails digging into your skin brought some sort of control into the situation.

_Okay, [Y/N], be rational. You’re super hungover. That means he’s probably super hungover. Maybe it’s like a Parent Trap sort of thing, but with fully grown adult humans. Unlikely, but beer goggles are a thing._

Rationalizing did very little to help the situation, and as the sun got a little brighter through the window shades, you quickly realized that you were running out of time before your (probably married) partner woke up, and you were _not_ about to subject yourself to that extraordinarily awkward conversation.

_Now or never._ You told yourself, and you went to wiggle your left arm out from underneath the pillow, careful to not touch your bedmate’s arm. Something on your hand gets caught on the sheet, tugging at your finger, but you eventually slip your hand free. You raise your hand to your face to see what it was that got caught (you were pretty sure you hadn’t put any rings on your left hand when you had dressed to go out) and had to squint your eyes even more to shield them from the light reflecting off of –

_Oh._

_Oh fuck._

Sitting there, on your left ring finger, was a mother _fucking_ diamond ring.

You immediately brought your hand to your face, biting down on the meat of your thumb to stop yourself from screaming. A ring. A _fucking ring_. You looked down at it, a little cross-eyed. It was small and simple and had a silver band but it was still a goddamn ring and you had _no idea_ where it came from. Once your initial panic subsided, you realized that if _you_ had a ring, and _he_ had a ring, then perhaps you weren’t actually a homewrecker and the two of you were just super drunk and bought rings or something. Yeah. That’s it. Completely normal. Two bros being dudes, complete strangers, buying each other rings while blackout drunk and then sleeping together (you still weren’t sure if you had sex or not. You didn’t tender or sore or _whatever_ in any way, but there was still the possibility that his dick was just so incredibly small that it wasn’t enough to make you feel anything in the morning. Or he had a strap-on. Or, again, could’ve just _not had sex._ Jury was out on that one).

You took as deep of a breath as you dared, and, with your bladder beginning to protest again, you gingerly lifted the arm off of your waist and slid out of the bed, quickly replacing where your body was with a pillow that had been thrown on the floor. He immediately reached out and curled around it, burying his face into the pillow, and you mentally cheered. Typically, you were really bad at getting out of bed without waking others up.

Looking at him, he was actually pretty cute. He had curly brown hair that looked chestnut-y where the sun hit it, you could sort of see freckles on the sliver of face that he had exposed, and his nicely toned arm had what looked like what you thought was some sort of Zelda tattoo, at a glance. You gave a thoughtful frown and shrugged to yourself.

_At least drunk [Y/N] found someone that’s your type._

You turned away from the sleeping man in the bed and quietly tip-toed your way to the bathroom, picking up your discarded dress off the back of a chair and your phone off the TV stand on the way. You slipped inside and closed the door over – without shutting it all the way, that would make a click and maybe wake him up – and checked your phone while you (finally) peed.

To your surprise, it was only about eight in the morning, and while none of your friends had texted you yet (probably still asleep), there was a slew of photos from last night in your phone. You and your friends at the bar, a bunch of shots of your friends with a group of guys that you don’t recognize (including the boy in the bed in the next room), and then a series of increasingly blurry shots of what looked like you and Mystery Man in a…drive-thru? Maybe? You could make out a window and a car and some neon lights. It was extremely difficult to even figure out _anything_ in the photos, they were so shaky, like someone was laughing or moving (or drunk…probably drunk). Scrolling through, you tried to remember any of the night. Your group had gone down to the casino in your hotel, but quickly just set yourselves up at the bar. You remembered your best friend nudging you and pointing out a group of guys at the other end of the bar before she headed over there. You remembered being dragged by your friends to go talk to this group of strangers, them introducing themselves too fast for you to keep track but nodding anyway, taking some shots, and then –

Nope, nothing. Even with the super-blurry photos, you still remember absolutely nothing.

You sighed and finish doing “bathroom things” (not flushing, even though it grosses you out to leave your pee there in the toilet, it’s just pee, and the sounds that flushing toilets make were certainly going to wake up Mystery Man), pulling his shirt over your head and folding it neatly on the sink counter, slipping into your dress, and creeping back into the main room. You didn’t need to find any jewelry or your shoes, you decided. The décor of the place _definitely_ meant you were still in the same hotel, and the shit was all cheap stuff you bought for the trip, anyway. All you had to find was your handbag with your key card and then you could slip out unnoticed.

You shuffled around a little bit, pushing pillows and clothing around (either this man was very messy or one of you had tripped over his suitcase last night because man was there shit _everywhere_ , you hoped it was the latter, because otherwise that meant drunk [Y/N] has lowered her standards. You hated a messy man…or a messy anyone, really), and eventually found your clutch underneath a pair of dress pants.

Triumphant, you snatched up the bag and picked your way to the door. You were just one lock and turn of a handle away from slipping out completely unnoticed. You turned the lock as slowly as you could, hoping and praying that the sound wouldn’t be too loud –

_Click._

“Wha – Who the fuck are you?” A voice behind you half-yelled, still groggy with sleep. You practically jumped out of your skin, letting out a yelp and whirling around, hand flying up to cover your mouth.

Mystery Man was now sitting up in bed, staring at you rather menacingly, sheets pooled around his waist. If it weren’t for the bedhead and the shirtless-ness, he’d probably be downright terrifying.

“I – uh – um –” You stuttered, free hand still on the doorknob.

“Did I – did we – hold on.” He sighed and turned, groping blindly at the nightstand until he found a pair of glasses you hadn’t noticed before and slipped them on his face.

You didn’t realize you liked glasses so much until he put them on.

“Wait, [Y/N]? Right? We met you and your friends at the bar last night.” He sounded a lot calmer now, but despite the fact that there was no _way_ he wasn’t hung over he was still very loud and there was an edge to his tone that you weren’t used to and you were still very frightened at getting caught. You swallowed thickly and nodded your head.

“Well Jesus, sit down, you look like you’re about to pass out.” He said, gesturing to the bed. You cautiously stepped forward until you reached the end of the bed before settling down onto it, doing your best to not look as uncomfortable as you felt – although, judging by the expression on his face, you weren’t doing a very good job of it.

“Now you look like you’re going to throw up, have you never fucking done this before or something?” He spat out, and you shook your head.

“No? As in no you have or no you haven’t? Use your fucking words!”

You took a deep breath and ran your hand through your hair, opening your mouth to explain, but Mystery Man cut you off.

“Wait, is that a fucking _ring?_ Am I a homewrecker now? Holy fuck, that’s a first, oh my god, how didn’t I notice that last night? Did we even fuck at all? I don’t remember, but I’d’ve thought I’d look into things like potentially homewrecking before I took a girl home for the night, so to speak.” He blabbered, eyes wide as saucers.

“You have one, too.” You said, finally, cutting overtop of his rant. His jaw immediately snapped shut as he looked down at his hand in shock.

“Holy fuck. Did we get _married_?” He asked, voice going up and nearly cracking in disbelief as he leaned towards you.

You winced, “I don’t know?”

“Whaddaya mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t know! All I remember is [Y/F/N] dragging us over to you and your group you were with and everyone was talking over each other introducing themselves and then someone got a bunch of shots. And then waking up this morning, with a very large hangover, so if you could talk just a _tiny_ bit softer, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Shit, you don’t remember my name even, do you? No wonder you were trying to sneak out.” He breathed, sounding no less urgent or astounded but with a thankfully quieter volume.

You felt your cheeks grow hot and you knew you were as red as a tomato as you shook your head and ducked your chin down toward your chest, covering your face with your hands.

“Hey, hey now, don’t fucking do that, we’re in this together, here, I don’t remember much either.” He told you, grabbing your wrist in a surprisingly gentle hold and then pulling your hands away from your face, one at a time. His fingers stayed wrapped around your wrist, now laying in your lap. You hadn’t noticed that he’d scooted closer to you.

“Hi, I’m Michael, it’s nice to meet you, [Y/N]. Want me to find you something for your head? I know I packed aspirin or something, and _Jesus Christ_ I need it, too.” He ducked his head a little so he could look at you properly, and part of you couldn’t help but coo internally at the sudden sweetness he was capable of.

“Yeah, okay, thanks, Michael.” You said, looking him in the eye and smiling. He immediately brightened and pushed himself out of bed (groaning dramatically as he did so), and started shifting through his things all over the floor.

“I don’t know why the fuck my shit is everywhere, I hate this, I’ll have to clean it up – hey, do you want to borrow a shirt or something? I’m sure wearing that dress isn’t very comfortable, and I understand if you want to just like, leave and never see me ever again after this, but I think we should at least hang out until we can get to the bottom of this whole wedding ring business, because if we actually _did_ accidentally, drunkenly get married we both have to be there to get a fucking annulment, I’m pretty sure.” He said as he started picking things up and folding them, creating piles next to you. It seemed like he was half-looking for aspirin and half cleaning up, which you weren’t as perturbed as you thought you’d be by the lack of immediate relief via medicine.

“I uh, already did. It’s in the bathroom, I was wearing it when I woke up.” You said sheepishly. Michael straightened up, paused and scrunched his face for a second, and then turned to you.

“Here, take this, too, then. They’ll be big, but you don’t seem like the kind of girl who wants just any random man seeing her in her undergarments,” Michael said with a smirk, handing you what looked like a pair of old gym shorts, “I promise they’re clean, I haven’t been to the gym yet since I got here.”

You nodded and took the shorts, ducking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. You grabbed the complimentary make-up wipes and cleaned your face, washing it in the sink and then taking a second to flush the toilet (you’re sort of glad that Michael caught you, now, because he’s nice and you knew you’d regret leaving a pee-toilet for a nice human). You slipped out of your dress and pulled on Michael’s clothes before rooting around in your handbag for a hair tie. Your chosen bag for the night wasn’t big enough to fit a brush, but at the very least you could get your still half-hairsprayed locks out of your face and into something that looked at least a little bit like “I planned this” and not as much “hello yes I just woke up in a stranger’s room and now have to do a walk of shame at some point today.”

You walked out of the bathroom and sat back on the bed just as Michael finished with the last of his clothes.

“Here,” He said, and turned towards you. He paused and stared at you for a moment, and you stared back in slightly awkward silence before he jolted himself back into action, handing you a small container and a water bottle, “take as many as you need.”

You cringed inwardly at the _size_ of the pills (you weren’t the best at taking them, it freaked you out and made you gag a lot of the time), but took the amount you knew that you needed and downed them quickly, putting on a brave front for Michael – even though he wasn’t paying attention to you, instead typing away on his phone.

“I texted Gavin – the fucker probably got just as drunk as we did but he films _everything_ , so he probably has footage of what exactly this is.” Michael told you once you handed back the pill container, waving his left hand as he said the word _this_.

“I have a bunch of pictures on my phone, but a lot of them seem to not have been taken by me and after like the fifth or sixth round of shots photos they’re too blurry to figure out much of what’s in them.” You said, opening up the photos app on your phone and holding it out for Michael to peruse.

You watched as he flicked through them for a few minutes before giving your phone back to you, “Yeah, I don’t see much either, except for we seemed to be together most of the night. I recognized a lot of those blurs as either your dress or my shirt.”

You nodded, giving a hum of affirmation, and the two of you lapsed into silence. As much as you wanted it to be awkward, it didn’t really feel that way, but you eventually spoke up.

“So, where’re you from?” You asked, and you and Michael spent the better part of the next couple hours just talking about yourselves. You found out that you and Michael actually had a fair bit in common, including the fact that you both lived in Austin, even though you had only just officially signed your lease and “moved in” to your apartment a few days before your Vegas trip.

Eventually, your aspirin slowly kicked in, and while you were actually, genuinely enjoying talking to and learning about Michael, you could feel yourself starting to get sleepy again. _Damn Michael’s comfortable clothes._

To rectify this, you slid to the floor and plopped down, crisscross applesauce-style.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Michael asked, and although the edge in his voice came back, you were starting to learn (or maybe remember) the difference between what that meant for you as opposed to what that meant for Michael – aka he wasn’t actually angry about it, just sounded that way.

“Too comfy. Felt like I was going to fall asleep, so I had to fix it.” You explained, shrugging your shoulders. Michael muttered something inaudible, but he left you alone, so you assumed that he didn’t have anything else to say and so you decided to start scrolling through your friends’ twitters, trying to see if any of them published drunken tweets that could help fill in the gaps.

You, fortunately (or unfortunately, in this instance), have a tendency to log out of all of your social media apps when you know you’re going to either A) be drunk, or B) hang around drunk people. But your friends don’t hold the same policies as you do, and sure enough, your best friends’ twitter is littered with unintelligible tweets. You scroll through them, trying to decipher what the _fuck_ she was trying to say, when you see something that made you nearly drop your phone.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

“What, what?” Michael is crouching next to you nearly instantly, looking urgently at you.

“Look at this.” You click on the tweet to isolate it and turn your phone to face him.

_“Cym 2 th weedin!!! :D <323”_ is the tweet, and below it is a blurry picture of what is almost undoubtedly you and Michael standing in front of what looks like someone dressed as a priest.

“That’s us,” You pointed to the photo, “That’s a priest,” You moved your finger, “Did we get married?”

“Holy fuck. We got _married._ ” Michael looked at you, then your phone, then you, then your phone, something beyond shock in his wide eyes and slack-jawed mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” You said, dropping your phone into your lap and raising your hands in a placating gesture, “I am so, so sorry I’m usually not that type of person, oh my god, one of my friends that’s here with me is a lawyer, as soon as we find the certificate – wherever that is – she can help us annul it like, right fucking now, oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You could tell you were rambling, but the way that Michael stood up stiffly and immediately scooped up his phone and held it to his ear scared you, you couldn’t see his face from where you were sitting, but his shoulders looked tight and his head was down like he was angry and _fucking hell_ this was _not_ what you were expecting to get out of this trip, no sir-ree.

Michael held up a finger without turning around and you immediately snapped your jaw shut with a _click_ of teeth and covered both hands with your mouth.

“Gavin – Gavin, I know you’re fucking hung over but _I don’t care_ , I need you to come over to my room right now and bring your phone…Gav you _fuck_ it’s not something you can opt out of this is a _demand_ …[Y/N] – no, idiot, one of the girls we met last night…no, [Y/F/C] dress – yes, _that_ one – she’s in my room…I _don’t know, Gavin_! That’s why I need your phone, cause your stupid ass fucking films everything!...yes, I’ll unlock it, hurry the fuck up, asshole.” Michael pulled the phone away from his ear and strode to the door, opening it and sticking the lock bar over so that it was propped open a little bit for Gavin (whichever one he was).

“Okay, Gav’s on his way over, he just has to roll his sorry ass out of bed. Apparently, he ended up with one of your friends last night, too, so he’s very upset with me that I ruined his chances at a “morning romp.” But I figured this was more important.” He smiled at you and held out a hand, and the moment you took it he pulled you easily to your feet. You stumbled a little, falling into his chest, but he just laughed – a loud, kind of raucous but still _really_ pleasant sound – and steadied you with hands on your hips.

The two of you sort of stood there for a bit, you staring up at him and him staring down at you, and Michael had this dopy-looking, one-dimpled smile on his face, but eventually, he pulled away and merely _milliseconds_ later, a lanky man with a large nose and wild hair waltzed through the door.

“Michael!” He exclaimed, but it sounded more like “Mi-coo”, and you instantly remembered Gavin. He was English, and your best friend was a sucker for English men, so you had a feeling that it was [Y/F/N] that he left in his bed to come to Michael’s room, “Michael, you’ll never believe it, Michael!”

“Let me guess, [Y/N] and I got married at one of those twenty-four-hour drive-in places.” Michael deadpanned, and Gavin immediately shrunk a little, cocking his head to one side.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” He asked, and you and Michael held up your left hands simultaneously. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought that the two of you had planned that.

“Oh. Well, look at this, anyway!” Gavin said, bouncing over to Michael’s side and holding out his phone for everyone to see. The three of you watched as Gavin (with only mildly shakiness, you were impressed) filmed you and Michael exchanging vows at a drive-thru wedding chapel. You were impressed with the coherency of both your and Michaels’ voices, however you could hear [Y/F/N] cheering and slurring her way through congratulatory phrases just out of frame.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” You said again once the video ended, turning to Michael. He met your gaze with an intense look.

“Gavin, go see if you can find the marriage certificate in your room. I’m assuming you signed it as a witness, and it isn’t in here.” Michael said, not taking his eyes off you for a second. Gavin seemed to get the hint and left without protest, squawking _“Okay, Michael!”_ as he flounced out the door.

Michael held your gaze for a little longer before speaking, “You have nothing to be sorry for, [Y/N]. I had just as much of a hand in this as you did.”

You ducked your head, and you could feel a hot pressure start to build on the backs of your eyes.

_Don’t cry, don’t cry_ , “Yeah, but, like, still. I’ll pay the fee for the annulment, it’s the least I can do…”

_Fuck, you’re crying, you piece of shit._

“Hey, now, stop that.” Michael lifted his hands to your face and wiped his thumbs under your eyes, catching the tears as they fell.

“Listen. [Y/N]. Not going to lie, I think you’re really attractive. Like, super pretty, and don’t even try to argue with me. And judging by the fact that I have the same amount of condoms in my bag as when I packed it back in Austin, – even Drunk Michael knows to use protection – all we did was get drunk, get married, probably kiss a little, and then pass out. So I have an alternative proposition. Why don’t we worry about annulments and legal shit like that tomorrow, and you let me take you on a date tonight, with 200% less alcohol, just us, none of your friends or any of my idiots, because that’s what I wanted to ask you when I first saw you sitting across the bar from us. And I’m really sorry that we both wound up blackout drunk and did stupid shit like getting married last night, but let’s fix that tonight. Let me take you on a real, proper date. Whaddaya say?” Michael looked at you expectantly, and you searched his face for a moment, trying to find any signs of him pulling the wool over your eyes. Finding none, you took a deep breath and nodded.

You were already married, and you _were_ attracted to Michael, so what was the harm in a date?

“Okay. Yeah, I’d like that.” You said, and Michael beamed, pulling you into a tight hug and placing a kiss into your hair.

***

It was the best night of your entire life, and while you still got an annulment the next day, Michael told you to keep the ring (his bank account statements told you that he had bought it).

That date turned into two, which turned into three, and eventually –

Well, eventually your ring was replaced with a better, nicer one. Gavin was much less intoxicated when he filmed it the second time.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I love feedback!


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